Instincts
by JokerGirl509
Summary: Just a one shot involving what may have happened aboard the Arcadia before Alice came. Alas, summaries are not my strong suit...


**Summery:** Just a one shot telling of what might have happened before Alice arrived in

L.A. I suck at summaries. Rated T for gore.

**Author's note:** This is my first fanfiction! I'm glad to finally be a part of this

community. I saw the movie and it was awesome; but I think our dear friend Wesker

should have had a bit more screen time. This is just going to be a short story detailing

possible scenes that could have been included. Feel free to offer criticism, ideas, and

suggestions. No flames please.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Resident Evil Afterlife or its affiliated characters. Although it

would be cool if I could! Don't know about owning Wesker though…

Instincts

The massive ship sat innocently near the Los Angeles harbor; fog shrouding most of the

hulking vessel from view. On board, hundreds of operatives dressed in black combat gear

rushed about their assigned tasks on the lower levels. No one walked the top deck, save a

lone man. Tall, with slicked back blond hair, he silently strolled along. He wore an all

black outfit, with boots and a trench-coat. Despite the fact that it was past 2 am, the man

wore sunglasses; his form barley discernible in the near pitch-blackness of the upper

deck. The only light on this level came from the captain's control room, the satellite

receivers, and a storage area. The rest of the metal expanse, twice the size of a football

field, was in shadows.

On deck, the ocean air was deeply chilling; and winter was approaching. But the man

did not get cold. While he felt the chill in the air, it did not penetrate him like it would a

regular human. He gazed out at the L.A city-line, at the still burning fires that plagued

several skyscrapers, and the dark smoke that danced away from them. His razor sharp

hearing picked out the distant moans of a huge hoard of infected; staggering in its sheer

size. It was as if the entire former population of the city had gathered around a lone

building in particular…and that building was nearby, close to the harbor. Perhaps a

stubborn group of survivors were huddled in that building awaiting the inevitable, and

were now the abject attention of thousands and thousands of zombies. The man stared out

towards the source of the noise. While his eyesight was superior, it did have its

limitations; and he wanted to see what the commotion was like at a closer view. Raising a

pair of binoculars to his face, he spotted it: a large prison like building with high concrete

and barbed wire walls; surrounded by a seething ocean of infected. On the roof, torches

were lit and several figures wandered about, tending to makeshift tents and houses.

The lone man on the deck began to realize he was not alone anymore. His eyes

narrowed as he sensed someone approaching; he could smell their fear and anxiety. The

approaching figure was a subordinate from the lower levels, and was quickly walking up

with jerking nervous strides. Albert Wesker smiled; it never changed. The same men who

worked for him for years, still displayed the same, if not greater level of fear as the new

recruits. He turned. The soldier took a step back before rapidly composing himself and

saluting his superior. "Chairman Wesker sir. Our satellites picked up the same lone plane

flying about 120 miles north of here sir. Voice recognition has confirmed the pilot to be

Alice again sir…and she has a companion aboard…Claire Redfield sir." The young man

was secretly shaking off the urge to run at a break neck pace far away from here. But if

Wesker noticed, he did not show it. "So…Claire's mission failed…small surprise…Alice

survived as usual…interesting…any other news?" The soldier shook his head. "No sir."

Wesker waved the young nervous wreck away. "Very well," he said before turning his

attention to the survivor holdout once again. "Report to me again tomorrow at 9 am

sharp." Nodding and saluting haphazardly with a hasty "Yes sir!" the soldier took off.

The Tyrant, amused by the frightened antics of a well trained operative, allowed the little

indiscretions to fall aside.

When he was not out on the top deck, he was almost always found prowling the room

where Umbrella's new subjects were being held; surviving humans who had flocked to

the ship's false beacon of sanctuary. Several thousand were currently being housed here.

Wesker cracked his neck, the noise audibly echoing into the night. He could feel the virus

within, fighting him for some control. It had started to happen 3 months ago. Two

different serums had been administered to him in an attempt to quell that; both had failed.

His best scientists were racing to find a solution; almost frantic in their work. It was if

they feared something rather insignificant that was'nt even there. Foolish really.

Borderline pathetic. He was not concerned. He felt no pain or weakness, and his senses

and strength were as strong as ever. The virus simply was demanding that he slaughter

people; rending them limb from limb. But that had always been an issue ever since the

virus gifted him his god-like abilities.

It had always been a nagging, predatory voice in the back of his mind. He had long

since learned to control its voice though. But the virus's voice was getting stronger by the

day. Wesker shrugged off those thoughts. He had enough problems to take care of

without fretting over relatively small issues. He gave the crowd of infected and the

surviving humans a sharp stare before turning around and marching towards the elevator

next to the storage room. The walk was long, and he could have sprinted to his

destination in mere seconds; but he preferred to walk and enjoy the night air on his face.

He boarded and descended to the lower levels of the ship. There were five in all. His

office was on the second. The silver doors parted and he walked along the dim hallway,

passing numerous soldiers and researchers who seemed to up their pace or tried to look

even busier.

He smirked, nodding to those that greeted him, keeping his pace almost leisurely.

Suddenly, a powerful, blazingly intense pain twisted up his insides unlike any he had ever

felt…vicious and biting. He assumed this was the virus 'talking' again, pleading with

him; and the first time it had used this…hunger to get his attention. He had been through

far worse pain though, and continued into his impressive office without pause: high

ceiling, gleaming white walls, and a flawless marble floor. The doors, wide and heavy

enough to withstand a nuclear blast, slid into place behind him. Another pang came, this

one even sharper than the other. Feelings of violence began to rage through Wesker's

body. With difficulty, he shoved them out of his mind; killing valuable researchers and

soldiers would not serve him well. While he had few qualms about killing subordinates,

as he had demonstrated in his last encounter with that wretch Alice almost a year ago,

they were valuable; and Umbrella needed them to continue its work properly. He would

need to control himself. Friendly growling came from behind the tall white chair in the

back if the room. It was almost a throne really; fit for the king he was.

The growling came closer. But he did not flinch. Two large infected Dobermans

trotted out from their hiding place; their red eyes flashing with recognition. They did not

attack, and obediently sat back on their haunches in unison. Their hide had stopped

decaying a while back; and they were stronger specimens than other dogs who had come

into contact with the T-virus. Superior intelligence made them formidable in combat.

Wesker smiled as he knelt to rub their ears. He was the ONLY person aboard the

Arcadia, which the dogs wholeheartedly tolerated. Not surprising, since he to, possessed

the same virus. Picking up a handheld flat screen device, he ran his gloved fingers over it

to activate Umbrella's archives. Larger screens descended from the ceiling and displayed

satellite readings of the entire state. Zooming in on a lonely beacon, it showed a small

plane, fit for only two people, flying across the mountains, some 120 miles north of L.A.

Wesker smiled a full smile, a chilling display that was made even more so by his

crimson eyes. Few people survived seeing such a smile; as it only appeared when he was

truly infuriated. His eyes glowed bright, and the dogs began to snarl at sensing their

master's anger and irritation. He silenced them with a glance. "Do not worry. We will be

receiving some new 'guests' quite soon…they will be here shortly." Exiting the satellite

scan north of L.A, he focused the zoom in on the prison building until the view was a

mere 30 ft above the rooftop. Five survivors, one female and the rest male continued to

rush about, checking the ground below for possible signs of infected intrusion. Not likely,

as the high concrete walls were thick, and the dense barbed wire on top could deter even

the most determined infected; at least intelligence was not a zombie strong suit. The

Tyrant frowned a bit, his gaze cold. How long could they last? He mused, drumming his

fingers on the side of the screen. Judging from the numbers of infected, it would not be

long before the survivors perished. Searing pain came swiftly again, making Wesker

double over; he hissed with irritation. The virus was screaming at him now, clawing at

his will to get a stronger hold.

He slammed his fist down onto the arm of the chair, steadying himself. He knew

sooner or later, he would have to give in; it was interfering with his concentration and

ability to get things done, always gnawing him until his mind was raw from the effort to

keep it quelled. And this angered him. Very well, he thought. The company might be able

to spare a few underlings…yes…yes it could. Some things were necessary…keeping

one's sanity was necessary. As soon as he stopped forcing the virus's influence away, he

felt calmer; the inner turmoil gone. He turned his attention to the electronic device. The

pain was a constant now, but he knew it would be gone soon. Switching off the screens,

he strolled out of his office and into the main hanger bay. He continued on through the

holding area for test subjects, and marched into the elevator. Ascending to the top deck

again, he stalked through the gathering fog, senses going into overdrive; becoming even

more acute as he neared the broadcast room.

Only one operative would be there during the night shift; making the situation

easier…avoiding complete crew panic was preferable. Silent as a floating shadow,

Wesker entered the room, closing the door behind him tightly. The soldier did not even

appear to take notice and was preparing to activate another broadcast; rummaging

through documents absentmindedly and grumbling to himself, unaware that death was

waiting patiently a mere ten paces away. The man fumbled with the microphone, not so

silently cursing it and everything in sight; he was clearly under extreme stress, nervous

twitches and rapid blinking plaguing him. The Tyrant smiled slowly as the man began the

routine broadcast. He only got to the middle of it before his throat was ripped out; gore

spraying the window from the severed, tortured arteries. The soldier's mind barely had

time to register what had happened to him before blood loss robbed him of awareness. It

flowed from his rendered throat, pooling on the ground in a hot sticky lake, nearly black

in the dim lighting of the room.

Minutes later, his corpse fell to the floor with a dull wet thud, disbelief still plastered to

its face despite being nearly decapitated. Its chest was mutilated, heart missing; a gaping

red hollow in place surrounded by crushed and splintered ribs bent at odd, unnatural

angles. In the shadows, razor toothed tentacles similar to what the regular infected

possessed, retracted into Wesker's blood smeared mouth and settled down within. His

breathing was calm, steady and satisfied. The pain was gone, and the violent feelings

non-existent. He felt so much stronger now…and the taste of the killing had been

surprisingly good. Wiping off the drying blood, the Tyrant made his way out of the room

and into the night; not concerning himself with who discovered the remains or when.

That was not important, at least not to him. Someone else could fret over the loss of one

operative. Calmly, he strolled across the deck and back towards his office. People seemed

even more wary of him, going out of their way to avoid his gaze or close proximity

completely.

They thought themselves rather foolish; they had nothing to hide from the Chairman.

So why were they so suddenly nearly over the edge with anxiety? Instincts had told them,

or rather shouted at them, to keep significant distance between themselves and Wesker. It

would take the higher levels of their brain functions a longer time to accept what the

primal part already knew…a predator was now among them.

-Fin-

**Author's note:** I apologize for the length…I was not expecting this many words to come

out! Whew!


End file.
